


Restraint

by MiladyDeWinter (Techno_Queen)



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Self-Destructive Behavior, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 03:28:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12832350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Techno_Queen/pseuds/MiladyDeWinter
Summary: Jack is good at learning self-control. Perhaps too good.





	Restraint

**Author's Note:**

> TW: This story does contain depictions of self-destructive behaviour. Please consider carefully before reading.

It takes a little getting used to. Winter spirits are known for their uncontrollable powers, after all, and the fact that increased belief is causing his powers to swell does not help much. It is many a day and many a night that goes by before he figures out how to repress them, how to keep them under control.

Even when he does manage to get the hang of it, it is still difficult. He feels like he is trying to check a wild stallion with nothing but a flimsy piece of string, his magic churning in his veins and curdling like spoiled milk, and oftentimes he slips, frost and ice exploding outwards from his core and leaving him drained and despondent.

He continues, though. It will take practice, he realizes, and it will be worth it, in the end.

~=~

The rain pours solemnly from the gray morning sky, pitter-pattering quietly against the rooftop. It soaks into his hair and clothes, gradually drenching him, the water running down his body in rivulets.

He notes, to his pleasure, that while it does cool a little, the water does not freeze solid when in contact with him, as it is often wont to do. He is getting better, little by little, his self-control growing by the day, and though it hurts sometimes, though occasionally his powers beg to be released from their restraints, though often he feels tempted to throw all caution to the winds and let his wild unpredictable powers come out to play, he feels a kind of savage victory for every second he manages to control himself, and it is enough to keep him going.

With a fake-looking jauntiness to his step, he walks across the roof, bare feet splashing in the puddles that are growing ever larger on the gray concrete. Again, no ice forms, and again, he feels victorious, even as his vision begins to turn slightly blurry from the effort of straitjacketing his powers.

He is winning, he knows this. It will be worth it, in the end.

~=~

It feels glorious, for the past two weeks he's managed to stifle his magic almost entirely, and though his head throbs and his bones ache he feels triumphant. He revels in the pain prickling underneath the surface of his skin, delights in the sensation of his own powers attempting to rip him apart at the seams, for he knows that he is succeeding, and he is delirious with joy.

(it still hurts, but it will be worth it, in the end)

~=~

He dances on the wind like the snowflakes he creates, the gusts tossing him side to side like a piece of blue-and-white chiffon. It's been three weeks now, and he is still holding strong, the magic ebbing painfully in his blood but never letting loose.

 _It's worth it,_ he reminds himself, even as another wave of agony brushes delicately against his nerve cells. _It will be worth it, in the end._

~=~

He is a failure and a screw-up.

He lies on the ground, wincing, his soul feeling painfully raw. The blast was sudden and catastrophic, ripping his insides to shreds and leaving him gasping at every movement, sharp stabs of hurt travelling through his body whenever he dares to budge even slightly, as if his bones were replaced by bits of broken glass.

Hours later, he eventually opens his eyes to the sight of ice and frost surrounding him in a terrifying circle, the patterns sharp and jagged. Somehow, this sight inspires him to grit his teeth and try again, the spiked curls of frost reminding him of why he tried to control himself in the first place. He is dangerous, wild, and unpredictable, and while that was not a problem before, now he has friends that he interacts with constantly, and he needs to learn to control himself if he does not want to hurt them accidentally.

It will be worth it. It will be worth it, in the end.

~=~

Next time, he lasts five weeks, before collapsing in Antarctica and allowing his powers to slip from his grasp. Again it feels like they're ripping his body into shreds, and again it takes him hours to recover, groaning as he hauls himself to his feet and tries again.

It will be worth it, in the end.

~=~

It takes three months before everything goes to hell.

The latest loss of control is drastic, icing over nearly two thousand square miles of Antarctica's frozen surface within a span of three seconds, and he feels limp like a ragdoll, the savagely abrupt drain of power causing his heartbeat to stutter and his vision to double. His only wish is to crash in a snowbank somewhere and stay there for a little while.

It seems Fate is against him, however, for as soon as he finds a spot untouched by his ice, where he can burrow himself into the old coarse snow, the aurora appears in the sky.

Damn. He forgot that there is a meeting today. Momentarily, he considers simply ignoring it, but he knows that his disappearance will only prompt the others to try and search for him, and he doesn't have the energy to hide from them.

Shaking his head in weariness, he summons the Wind. As he leaps into the air, a wave of dizziness overcomes him, and the crash of agony that follows his movement nearly makes him black out.

"Ugh, _ow..."_

The Wind hastily lowers him back down to the ground, and he cries out as his feet impact the snow, a jolt of pain starting at his feet and travelling up his spine, knocking the breath out of him. He flinches and wraps his arms around himself, and tries to ignore the cold seeping into his bones and the aches in every muscle.

It will be worth it, in the end.

~=~

His second attempt to fly is successful, for he is this time prepared for the onslaught of discomfort. The remainder of the flight is no better, however, the jostling of the Wind worsening the pain, and he is relieved when he finally lands inside the meeting room of the Workshop, feet aching as he places his weight upon them once more.

"Ah, Jack! How are you doing, my boy?"

North's loud voice booms inside the room, and Jack winces slightly before quickly plastering a smile on his face and turning towards the Cossack. "Hey, North. I'm fine, how 'bout you?"

He is deeply conscious of Bunny's suddenly piercing gaze and Sandy's worried frown, and he mentally smacks himself. Normally, he is better at acting than this. Normally.

North, however, is yet oblivious, rambling as he is wont to do. "I am well, Jack. Come! You are just in time for hot chocolate. Is new recipe yetis are trying, you will like it, da? With peppermint."

Despite himself, his grin turns genuine. "That sounds great."

North smiles and returns to his armchair, boots thumping against the wooden floor, and Jack follows suit, settling into his usual place at the window-seat before gratefully accepting a mug of hot chocolate from one of the yetis.

The cup is warm in his hands, almost scalding, too hot for him to drink, and yet he forgoes his usual method of freezing it. Sandy clearly notices this, and so does Tooth, but a quick grin from the winter spirit deflects their concern and quiets any irritating questions.

He leans back against the window, suppressing a cringe at the painful contact, and watches as the meeting resumes.

It will be worth it, in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cower, mortal! For I am Techno-Queen, ruler of crappy writing, starting several stories at once, too many linebreaks, and a narrative that contains _few to no word contractions._
> 
> ...I do not know why I did that, btw. It just..."he is" sounded better than "he's"? For some reason? Maybe?
> 
> ...
> 
> Thoughts?


End file.
